


Blooms of Fortune

by guilty_pleasures_abound



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Cowgirl Position, F/M, First Time, Fuck Or Die, Light Angst, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Sex Magic, Sex Pollen, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Sex, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 19:18:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18556138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guilty_pleasures_abound/pseuds/guilty_pleasures_abound
Summary: You'dtold himnot to touch it. You'dtold himthat putting his hands on a mysterious magic flower in the middle of the woods was a terrible idea, but did he listen? Of course not.[Female reader]





	Blooms of Fortune

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the beautiful, sad, headcanon reference for Ford's scars in this fic: [here.](http://skidar.tumblr.com/post/125326210602/ford-its-103-degrees-why-are-you-still-wearing)

“For someone so smart, you can be a real damn idiot, Stanford!”

Frankly, you were proud of yourself for being able to sound so cross while the man you were scolding was breathing heavily against your neck, pressing you against a tree with his knee wedged between your thighs and his hands under your shirt.

“I know,” he groaned, and at least you could take comfort in the fact that he sounded contrite, despite the way his dick was rubbing against your hip.

You'd _told him_ not to touch it. You'd _told him_ that putting his hands on a mysterious magic flower in the middle of the woods was a terrible idea, but did he listen? Of course not.

 _“It'll be fine,”_ he had insisted, _“I won't even directly touch it, you see? I'll just close the specimen jar around it like this...”_

Apparently, just kneeling down beside the thing to collect it was enough to set it off, and had resulted in the flower spewing a stream of pollen in his face. Which seemingly set off a chain reaction among all the other flowers, covering you both in a mist of pollen.

Barely moments after that, you found yourself hot, _really hot_ , your skin buzzing with tingles and sudden, overwhelming arousal panging sharply between your legs.

The next thing you knew Ford was grabbing you, looking panicked under the dusting of yellow spores all over him, eyes wide behind his glasses, but the moment the bare skin of his hand closed around your forearm, it was like an electric shock; only instead of jolting you apart, the sheer idea of doing anything but getting deeply, _intimately_ closer almost caused you physical pain.

Which was how you found yourself pressed against a tree, arms around Ford's shoulders, unable to keep yourself from squeezing his thigh between both of yours and grinding fruitlessly against him, desperately trying to get the right pressure on your clit through your clothes.

It was also how you found yourself _fumingly frustrated_ with him, anger just barely overridden by the lust coursing through you.

He made a harsh sound, leaning more heavily against your body and digging your back harder against the rough tree bark. You suppressed a little groan as his hips hitched against yours, the hard outline of his cock feeling even more prominent against your hip.

It wasn't enough, it wasn't _nearly_ enough, need pounding low in your abdomen and making you shake.

With all the strength you could muster, you pushed him back, crying out at the painful loss of contact, Ford's grunt and grimace of pain telling you he felt the same hurt from the distance now separating you.

The logical part of your brain was yelling at you to keep your distance, that the two of you could try to figure this out, create an antidote, _something_ , but you just... couldn't. Not with the way he was looking at you, not with how much you already burned for him, even without the stupid flower.

That's why when your body collided with his again, your hands fisting in his coat lapels as you took him roughly to the ground, the kiss you pressed to his mouth was far from the sweet, gentle one you had envisioned in your head for so long. You never wanted it to be like this—only happening because he was being compelled, because he couldn't fight the flower's effect any better than you could.

“My heart is racing abnormally fast,” he groaned when your mouth finally disconnected from his, switching instead to the line of his incredible jaw. You felt his fingers at your neck a moment later, clumsily taking your pulse even as you squeezed him with your knees on either side of his hips, grinding against him with increasing desperation. “Yours too, it has to be an effect of the flower.”

You agreed with him; the beat of your heart almost painful with how fast it was, and even considering the fact that you were dry humping the man you'd been fantasizing about for months, you could tell that it wasn't normal.

“We have to progress this,” he gasped, his strong hands grabbing your upper arms tightly, his heels digging into the grass as his hips bucked up roughly, desperately. “Or this stuff's going to kill us.”

“It could kill us either way,” you growled, sitting back with a whine as your hands went for the hem of your shirt—you were so fucking _hot_ , you were burning up, you needed air on your skin, _now._

You told yourself to ignore the way he looked up at you as you wrestled your shirt over your head then unclasped your bra; the wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression on his face probably just surprise at your actions, not appreciation of all the skin you were revealing to him.

It didn't take much to notice the way his cheeks were starting to redden, along with the sweat starting to bead along in his hairline, telling you just how much he was burning up the same way you were.

“Sit up,” you croaked, pulling on his shoulders, pulling him upright enough to shove his coat down his arms. He shook his hands out of the sleeves with a heavy pant, his eyes scrunched closed, eyebrows furrowed. The sweater was next, your fingers going for the hem and getting two fistfuls of the soft fabric before he stopped you.

“W-wait, I...”

“You're burning up, Ford,” you interjected, fighting his grip to push the hem of his sweater up, despite his protest. “You're no good to me if you pass out.”

“I... I'm not... I have...”

“Doesn't matter.” Those words you pressed against his lips, momentarily ceasing your fight with his shirt. “Ford, it doesn't matter. Not to me, and not to whatever the hell it is this pollen is doing to us.”

He groaned again, all twelve fingers flexing their grip on your hands before he finally relented and let you pull it over his head, his glasses almost getting tangled in the turtleneck collar. He righted them, then leaned back on his elbows against his discarded coat. Tension was visible in his jaw, but his eyes stared determinedly off somewhere to your left.

You had an inkling that there would be scars. He had given you a very vague recounting of his time in the multi-verse, and only mentioned it again whenever it directly related to some knowledge or technology that was relevant to your joint work investigating the abnormal. He never shared true details, never regaled you with moment-to-moment stories the way Stan enjoyed to tell.

To say that you were shocked at the severity would be an understatement.

“I know it's ugly...” he mumbled, clearly humiliated, and his shame jolted you out of your stare.

“No,” you told him firmly, raising your gaze from his chest to his face, giving him a stern look. “It's not. I'm just... sad you had to endure them.”

Which was the complete and total truth. He had lived in a state of fighting for his life for decades, and though you had known each other for less than a year, you wished so fervently that you had been able, somehow, to spare him that suffering.

He risked a glance up at you, and you couldn't fight the screaming demand your body was making to shut the fuck up and _touch him already._

You leaned down with a whimper, pressing yourself against him, the both of you groaning at the relief of skin to skin contact. Then Ford shifted, going from being propped up on his elbows to laying flat with a moan, using the new freedom of his arms to touch you.

Everything felt amplified; the electric sensation of his palms along your back lighting every nerve ending on fire in a lustful rush that left you gasping. You were almost starting to feel dizzy; the edge of lightheadedness creeping up on you, your heart pounding harder than ever and making it difficult to get enough air.

“God...” you breathed out, setting your mouth against his skin with another whimper, kissing messily along his clavicles as twelve fingers gripped hard on either side of your hips.

You heard him gasp, felt him tilting his head back to give you more room, felt him squeeze his hands tight to pull you harder against him, the rigid flesh behind his zipper completely unignorable where it ground between your legs.

“We need to progress this,” you echoed Ford’s words from a few minutes ago in a whisper, forcing yourself to lean back, despite your body screaming at you to stay close, to wrap yourself around him and never let go. “We need more clothes off to make this work.”

Ford’s pained whimper in answer hit you right in the chest, his fingers digging into your hips, his pelvis rutting uselessly against you as he mindlessly sought relief. It was so tempting to fall into that same fog—you were barely holding on as it was, and the fucking _gorgeous_ way he looked right then was almost too much to bear.

“Stanford! Focus! Pants, off, now!” you forced yourself to say, going for your own button and zip with shaky fingers.

The command in your voice seemed to snap him out of it, his thick eyebrows furrowed over his eyes as he focused his gaze on you, licking his lips over and over again as he tried to get enough control over himself to do as you commanded.

“Yes...” he finally panted, clumsily dropping his hands to his own trousers, hurriedly fumbling with his belt. “Yes, yes...”

You forced yourself to close your eyes; maybe if you stopped looking at him you'd be able to concentrate on your own pants, on getting the button out of its loop and the zipper down to the bottom of your fly.

You managed it, sliding off to the side so you could shimmy out of the fabric, ignoring the painful twist in your guts and Ford's pitiful moan at being separated.

You almost cried when you struggled with the lace of your boot, shaking fingers desperate and uncoordinated, until there was another set of them helping you to detangle them. You kept your eyes closed, letting Ford help you, his hard breathing betraying how absolutely desperate he was to lay hands on so much more than your laces.

You only managed the one boot but that was more than enough, all that mattered was getting free of one; one boot, one pant leg, that was all you needed to allow what you both were in such dire straits for.

You finally reopened your eyes, all but launching yourself at Ford as heat pounded viciously through your body, pooling in your cunt, making your heart race and your head swim. The deep grunt he made at the impact just spurred you on more, pinning his shoulder to the ground with one hand as the other reached without hesitation to the stiff member between you.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” He hissed in a rapid breath, throbbing in your hand, his cock flushed a deep red and leaking precum like a faulty faucet, and you had never seen anything you wanted more in the world in that moment.

You didn't give him time to think, didn't give him time to breathe more than that litany of curses before you were guiding him to your entrance and sliding down, your pussy so slick with arousal that there wasn't an ounce of resistance.

Ford's back arched off the ground, both of you giving out mutual cries of relief, his hands returning to your hips to pull you down all the harder; pushing himself so deep you swore you could feel him in your throat.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god...” It was your turn to chant in an overwhelmed whine, the fire in your blood making you thirsty for a hard, jolting rhythm; bracing your hands on Ford's chest as you rose and fell over him, the impact of your body against his pelvis making a lewd smack.

It amplified when Ford managed to plant his feet on the ground, digging his heels into the grass as he jerked up into every thrust, pushing your rhythm faster, rougher. If you hadn’t been burning up—if every single millimeter of flesh being touched by Ford wasn’t sparking with pleasure—you might have found it all too hard, too brutal. You might have hurt or ached from the force of it, but instead all you could feel was the steady rise of climax building inside you, pushed higher and higher with every movement.

“God, _please_ ,” you heard Ford wheeze, his chest tense and heaving under your hands, his grip on your hips undoubtedly bruising, though you didn't know what it was he was begging for. More? Harder? Just to fucking _come already_ so this could just be _over_?

Frustrated tears came to your eyes, hating how hurtful that last thought was, how stupid it was considering you didn't even want this; you were fucking _Ford_ , and it was _real_ , not just your guilty fantasies in the middle of the night, but it wasn't happening because he wanted it to. It was happening because he was a dumbass who had to touch a dumb magic flower.

Reaching your hand down to your clit tore an overwhelmed sob from your throat and a ragged gasp from his, the sudden hike in ecstasy like a flash of light behind your eyes. It had _never_ felt like this; not with toys, not even with the hottest hookup you could remember having.

Then the world was spinning, and you realized it wasn’t an effect of the pollen, it was happening; the grass suddenly scratchy against your back and the sky so shockingly blue above you.

A hot mouth against your throat made you gasp, Ford’s lips against your lightspeed pulse making shivers ripple down your spine as he boldly hooked his elbow under one of your knees, hiking it up into the most divine stretch you had ever felt.

“Keep going,” he husked out, the rough jolt of his hips making you gasp over and over, “you need to come, honey, keep touching yourself.”

You realized that you had moved both hands to grip his sides when he had flipped you under him, but that was barely a blip on your radar in comparison to the gut-punch that was Ford calling you “honey” and telling you to come.

A high whine left your throat in answer, scrambling to do what he said, and the desperate moan he pushed against your shoulder when it strung you tight and ready to snap pinged through you like bullet.

You could barely breathe, the electric shocks of pleasure sparking through your body so intensely, amped higher and higher with every thrust of Ford's hips, every frantic rub of your fingers against your clit. It sent you rapidly to the peak, tense and shaking like you'd never felt before.

“Ford!” you couldn't help but gasp when climax abruptly overtook you in a hot surge, your head turning into white noise and your body all but floating in that sudden moment of pure ecstacy.

Faintly you heard Ford curse, the inferno inside you fueled even higher by the hot gush of his release, his back tight under your hand and his hips pushing so deep into you it almost felt like the two of you were fusing into one being.

Ford would have laughed at that fanciful notion—hell, _you_ probably would have laughed at that fanciful notion if you had been able to do anything but try to remember how to breathe.

There was a chance you passed out, as the next thing you were aware of was the sound of your name, Ford's voice seeming a little frantic, like perhaps he had been saying it for several moments before you had the strength to answer him.

Your throat clicked when you swallowed, your mouth dry and your lips feeling tacky as you forced words from them in a low murmur. “M'fine.”

Ford seemed to be relieved, pressing his forehead against yours, still huffing quick breaths that fanned out almost ticklishly over your face. He was still inside you, still pressed over you, though he had let your leg down and seemed to be trying to keep his weight off you with his elbows. You didn’t know what to make of that, didn’t know what it meant, and your brain was still in a fog that left you incapable of analyzing it.

Then his hand was on your neck, fingers pressing to take your pulse, followed by raising one of your eyelids to look at your pupil.

“Ford, cut it out.” You twisted your face away with a frown, scrunching your eye closed again in protest.

“I'm just making sure,” he murmured, his wide palm cupping your cheek to turn you back to him, so you cracked your eyes open to look at his face.

The vivid brightness of the blue sky behind his head made you squint, but the worry on his face convinced you to endure it so he could look at you.

“Are you sure you're okay?”

“Are you? You're the one who got a faceful of flower dust first.”

He seemed alright, just flushed and damp with sweat, same as you, and he nodded in confirmation. “Yes, yes, I'm fine. My heart rate is returning to normal, as is my body temperature. The effects of the pollen must be temporary, with alleviation seeming to be contingent on... uh...”

His face got redder, his sentence sputtering out, and you raised an eyebrow at him with a flat look.

“Giving in to it?” you supplied for him.

He nodded again, clearing his throat slightly. “Yes. Right.”

Awkward silence, just the two of you looking at each other, until you shifted your hand on his back slightly higher, unintentionally gasping a little when your fingers dipped into the deep indent of a scar.

You weren’t sure if it was your gasp or the touch that jolted him out of it, his body tensing and his gaze flicking hurriedly away from your face.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, finally pulling back, the slick sound of him slipping out of you making him cringe and you wince, his blush overtaking his ears and neck now. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

You took a moment to collect yourself, taking a few slow, steady breaths before sitting up and looking around in an attempt to find your shirt. You were completely derailed by Ford’s next words.

“I will understand if you wish you quit us.” His hands were fumbling with his sweater as he spoke, clearly anxious to get it back on to hide the scars he had been so flustered to have to show you in the first place.

It took your brain a second to catch up, just staring at him as he finally tugged the sweater back over his head, ruffling his hair and nearly knocking his glasses off.

Oh. Right. Of course he wouldn’t want you to stick around after this, how awkward would that be?

“Right,” you murmured softly, swallowing back tears and crossing your arms over your chest awkwardly, resuming your search for your bra and top. “If that’s what you want me to do, I…”

“I don’t—” he interjected, nearly making your heart stop with nerves. “I don’t… I assumed… do you _want_ to stay, after that? I don’t even know if I’ll be able to look at _myself_ for putting you into such a situation, I can’t imagine looking at someone who… who…”

“You didn’t force me to do anything, if that’s what you’re implying,” you fiercely interjected that unbearable train of thought, unable to stop yourself from reaching out to touch his forearm, giving it a strong, reassuring squeeze. “If anything, I—”

You cut yourself off, mortified at the words that had nearly spilled out of your mouth, but not fast enough; Ford’s gaze turned to you intently, his eyebrows furrowed seriously behind his glasses.

“What?” he insisted. “Tell me.”

Fuck. If you didn't tell him, he would blame himself, ruining the friendship you had cultivated over these last few months. If you did tell him, you risked humiliating yourself _and_ ruining your friendship. _Fuck it_ there was no winning here. It wasn't even a question which you would chose, there was no way in hell you would let him carry that guilt, but that didn't make it any easier to get the words out.

“If anything...” you pushed the words past the terrified beat of your heart in your throat, looking down instead of at him, “...I... I was the one forcing you. When it first hit, when I pushed you away, I could have stopped. It would have _sucked_ but I could have and... and I didn't. I didn't because I'm too fucking weak and I've wanted it too long and—”

You never expected Ford to be the type to shut you up with a kiss, but that was exactly what he did, his wide hands on either side of your face and his large nose mushed against yours.

It shocked you, froze you in place for what had to be several solid seconds, then it was like time unstuck; you couldn't stop from wrapping your arms around his neck if you tried, grabbing fistfuls of his sweater and moaning longingly against his lips.

“I haven't—I was never any good at this,” he murmured urgently into the kiss, fervently pressing your lips together again before another rush of words, “Stan was always the one who could talk to girls, I could never... I'm going to be a catastrophe.”

“You are a fucking catastrophe,” you groaned, letting go of his sweater to tug at his hair, pressing in for another kiss. “But we'll figure it out, Ford. You're mostly clever. On occasion, anyway.”

It was a tease, the words mumbled with a smile pressed against his mouth, and thankfully he knew to take it as one, smiling in return as his hands slid from your face to wrap solidly around you.

“On occasion,” he agreed quietly, his embrace firm and warm. “And I trust that you'll... fill in any gaps in my knowledge?”

“Of course,” you agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyyy, look at that, sometimes I write Ford stuff! [Find even more on my tumblr.](https://guilty-pleasures-abound.tumblr.com)


End file.
